Twilight Chronicles - Book One: Beauty and the Beast (MM version)
by ParanormalLove22
Summary: When Jackson Swan, aka Jack, moves to the somewhat gloomy town of Forks and meets the mysterious, alluring Edward Cullen, his life takes a thrilling and terrifying turn. With his porcelain skin, golden eyes, mesmerizing voice and supernatural gifts, Jack's whole world will change forever as he is thrown into the dark and dangerous supernatural world.


_But of the tree of knowledge of good and evil,_

_thou shalt not eat of it:_

_for in the day that thou eatest thereof_

_thou shalt surely die._

Genesis 2:17

MY MOTHER DROVE ME TO THE AIRPORT WITH THE windows rolled down. It was seventy-five degrees in Phoenix, the sky a perfect, cloudless blue. I was wearing my favorite shirt - short sleeved, white with a cardinal on the front (my favorite team) - as a farewell gesture.

In the Olympic Peninsula of northwest Washington State, a small town named Forks exists under a near-constant cover of clouds. It rains on this inconsequential town more than any other place in the United States of America. It was from this town and its gloomy, omnipresent shade that my mother escaped with me when I was only a few years old. This is where I was headed to. I used to spend a month every summer until I was fourteen when my mom finally put her foot down; thus, these past four summers, my uncle, Charlie, and I were forced to vacation in California for two weeks instead.

It was to Forks that I was now moving to - an action that I took with great pleasure. I loved Forks. Sure I would miss Phoenix and the warm, sunny afternoons and the vigorous, sprawling city. But I wanted to be with dad more than with Phoenix and my mom's so-called new husband Phil.

"Jack," my mom said to me - the last of a thousand times - before I got on the plane. "Please, you don't have to this."

"Do you think I want to? You know exactly what Phil said about me."

My mom looks like me, except with short hair and laugh lines. I felt a spasm of panic as I stared at her wide, childlike eyes. How could I leave my loving, erratic, harebrained mother to fend for herself? Yes she had Phil and the bills would probably get paid and she would still have a house and food in the refrigerator, but still . . . She was my mother after all.

"I'm sorry mom I wish I didn't, but you heard what Phil said."

If I was being honest with myself, I didn't really want to go and that the only reason I was, was because of Phil. I swear, if I'd stayed any longer I would probably be dead. That's how much he hates me. Ever since he found out that I like boys, he's had it in for me. I remember that day like it was yesterday, even though it had been a month ago when it happened, I even remember the exact words he'd said like they were seared into my brain forever:

"Well, what do you know, he's actually home on time."

I rolled my eyes as I entered the foyer of my mother's house.

"Don't you roll your eyes at me boy."

Phil was a tall, secretly balding man who was an absolute pig and always had a funny smell about him, which was magnified when he did his drinking. From the first moment I met him, I immediately disliked this cold hearted man standing before me. His breath reeked of beer and I could tell that he was in a mood again.

"Where's my mom?"

"I'm in the kitchen."

Ducking out of Phil's way, I turn into the dining room to find she was at the oven cooking.

"What's for supper?"

"Chicken and Rice dear."

"Don't you dare walk away from me when I'm talking to you fag."

"That's not my name. It's Jack in case you already forgot."

CRAAAACK! It was like I'd been hit with a horse crop against my cheek when Phil slapped me. My mom screamed in horror.

"Phil STOP. He didn't mean it."

"Shut up. If he didn't mean it, he wouldn't have said it, ain't that right fag?"

All the hard work to contain my anger that had been building up inside me for the past few weeks exploded in me and without thinking my fist whammed into him and I heard another crack as I hit his nose. Blood spurted out like a balloon had just popped.

"Damn it. The little fag broke my nose."

My traitorous lips betrayed as a small grin appeared on my face. But before I could hide it, it was too late. Phil had seen and in a flash I was lying on the ground with salty blood filling my mouth. "That's the first and last time you ever lay a hand on me fag."

"Phil stop, please. He didn't mean anything by it."

But as usual my mother's pleas barely registered in his ears.

"Oh come on, we all know it's the truth. Your son's a faggot. I've seen him."

"Like you should talk. Maybe you should take a good look in the mirror instead of watching me."

Before I could stop myself, I said the one thing that broke the line, however small it was between Phil and I, that line was now gone completely. Phil's face turned stark red and I could picture fire sprouting from his ears like water from a hose and sharp and dangerous horns on his forehead.

"That's right. Just lay there like the faggot you are."

Hot, angry tears, strolled down my cheeks. "That's right." I mimicked him.

"Beat up on a sixteen-year-old to make yourself look good. Why don't you just call me gay to my face."

"Well are you? Because I'm not living in the same house as a FAGGOT."

I look towards mom who stared helplessly. "Come on mom, make him leave. He's an asshole."

"Jack please. Just stop it. You're only making it worse."

Another crack sounded throughout the room as Phil punched me in the face. "Never call me that again, I'll rip your head off."

"Can't you see the way he treats me, and you mom?"

"Jack please. Just calm down, dinner's almost ready."

I stood up shakily, the tears flowing freely now.

"No mom! You can take it but I can't. Make him leave!"

"Just c-c-calm down Jack. Please."

"You know what, I'm just gonna make this easy on you. I'm out of here."

Before Phil or mom could add anymore, I pushed away from Phil and ran upstairs to my room and slammed the door. I plugged my headphones and turned the music as loud as I could, ignoring the banging on my door. It wasn't till later that night, that I eventually fell into an uncomfortable sleep, dazing in and out of consciousness . . .

"Well, if you're going to go, tell Charlie I said hi."

"I will," I said, bringing me back to the present.

"I'll see you soon," she insisted. "You can come home whenever you want - I'll come right back as soon as you need me."

But I knew that would never happen. Phil had too tightly wound around his stubby little fingers.

"Don't worry about me," I urged. "It'll be great. I love you, Mom.

She hugged me tightly for a minute, and then getting on the plane, she was gone.

It's a four-hour flight from Phoenix to Seattle, another hour in a small plan up to Port Angeles, and then an hour drive back down to Forks. Flying has never bothered me, but the hour ride with Charlie, though, I was a little worried about.

Charlie had really been fairly nice about the whole thing. He seemed genuinely pleased that I was coming to live with him for the first time with any degree of permanence. Though I think it was more because he loved doing anything that got under Phil's nerves. Those two have hated each other ever since they first met. In fact, he'd already gotten me registered for high school and was going to help me get a car.

But it was sure to be awkward with Charlie. After all, it's been almost two years since we'd seen each other, even though we talked on the phone when we could, but neither of us was what anyone would call verbose and I didn't know what there was to say regardless.

When the plane landed, Charlie was waiting for me with the cruiser. I was expecting this. Charlie is Police Chief Swan to the good people of Forks. However, my primary motivation behind buying a car, despite the scarcity of my funds, was that I refused to be driven around town in a car with red and blue lights on top. Besides, nothing slows down traffic like a cop.

Charlie gave me an awkward, one-armed hug when I stumbled my way off the plane. "It's good to see you, Jack," he said, smiling as he automatically caught and steadied me. "You haven't changed much. How's my sister?"

I hesitated before answering. "She's fine, just . . . Fine." Charlie seemed to get the hint. It was a subject that was not worth talking about and if we did I knew, as much as I hated it, I would start crying again. But I'd already done plenty on the plane.

"Really, mom's fine. It's good to see you too, Charlie." I said changing the subject.

Most of my Arizona clothes were too permeable for Washington, so I only had a few bags. Before I left, my mom and I had pooled our resources to supplement my winter wardrobe, but it was still scanty. It was able to fit easily into the trunk of the cruiser which was nice.

"Guess what!" There was a hint of barely contained excitement in Charlie's voice.

"What?" I asked confused.

"I found a good car for you, really cheap too," he announced when we strapped in by the seatbelts.

"What kind of car?" I was suspicious of the way he said "good car for _you_" as opposed to just "good car."

"Well, it's a truck actually, a Chevy."

"Where did you find it?"

"Do you remember Billy Black down at La Push?" La Push is the tiny Indian reservation on the coast.

"Yeah, vaguely."

"He used to go fishing with us during the summer, but now he's in a wheelchair, so he can't drive anymore, and he offered to sell me his truck cheap."

"What year is it?" I could see from his change of expression that this was the question he was hoping I wouldn't ask.

"Well, Billy's done a lot of work on the engine - it's only a few years old, really."

I hoped he didn't think so little of me as to believe I would give up that easily. "When did he buy it?"

"He bought it in 1984, I think."

"Did he buy it new?"

"Well, no. I think it was new in the early sixties - or late fifties at the earliest," he admitted sheepishly.

"Charlie, you know I'm not truck savvy, and I don't know a whole lot about cars in general. I wouldn't be able to fix it if anything went wrong, and I can't afford a mechanic."

"Really, Jack, the thing runs great. They don't build them like that anymore."

_The thing,_ I thought to myself . . . It had possibilities - as a nickname at the very least.

"How cheap is cheap?" After all, that was the part I couldn't compromise on.

"Well, I kind of already bought it for you. As a homecoming gift." Charlie peeked sideways at me with hopeful expression.

Wow. Free.

"You didn't need to do that, Charlie. I was going to buy myself a car."

"I don't mind. Really. I want you to be as happy as can be here." He was looking ahead at the road when he said this. Charlie wasn't comfortable with expressing his emotions out loud, at least when it didn't come to Phil. So I was looking straight ahead as I responded.

"Thanks, Charlie. I appreciate that."

There's was really nothing else to say, and I never looked a free truck in the mouth - or engine.

"Yeah . . . You're welcome," he mumbled, embarrassed by my thanks.

We exchanged a few more comments on the weather, which was wet and that was pretty much it for the conversation. As we stared out the windows in silence, I couldn't deny that it was beautiful here, of course. Everything was green: the trees, their trunks covered with moss, their branches hanging with a canopy of it, the ground covered with ferns. Even the air filtered down greenly through the leaves.

Eventually though, we made it to Charlie's. He still lived in the small, two-bedroom house that he'd bought after college and there, parked on the street in front of the house that never changed, was my new - well, new to me - truck. It was a faded red color, with big, rounded fenders and bulbous cab. To my intense surprise, I loved it. I didn't know if it would run, but I could see myself in it. Plus, it was one of those solid iron affairs that never gets damaged - the kind you see at the scene of an accident, pain unscratched, surrounded by the pieces of the foreign car it had destroyed.

"Wow, Charlie, thank you, I love it!" Now my horrific day tomorrow would be just that much less dreadful. I wouldn't be face with the choice of either walking two miles in the rain to school or accepting a ride in the Chief's cruiser.

"I'm glad you like it," Charlie said gruffly, embarrassed again.

It took only one trip to get all my stuff upstairs. I got the west bedroom that faced out over the fronts yard. The room was familiar; it had belonged to me since I was little. The wooden floor, the light blue walls, the peaked ceiling, the green lace curtains around the window - these were all part of my childhood. There was only one small bathroom at the top of the stairs, which I would have to share with Charlie. I was trying not to dwell too much on that fact.

One of the best things about Charlie though, is he doesn't hover. He left me alone to unpack and get settled, a feat that would have been altogether impossible for my mother. It was nice to be alone, not to have to smile and look happy; a relief to stare dejectedly out the window at the sheeting rain and let just a few more tears escape. I wasn't in the mood to go on a real crying jag. I would save that for bedtime, when I would have to think about the coming morning.

Forks High School had a frightening total of only three hundred and fifty-seven - now fifty-eight - students; there were more than seven hundred people in my junior class alone back home. All of the kids here had grown up together - their grandparents had been toddlers together. I would be the new guy from the big city, a curiosity, a freak. If there was one thing I hated the most, it was being the center of attention.

But maybe, if I looked like a guy from Phoenix should, I could work this to my advantage. But physically, I'd never fit in anywhere. I _should_ be tan, sporty, blond - a football player, or a volleyball player, perhaps - all the things that go with living in the valley of the sun. Instead, I was in-between tan and paleness, without even the excuse of blue eyes or red hair, despite the constant sunshine. I had always been slender, but soft somehow, obviously not an athlete; I didn't have the necessary hand-eye coordination to play sports without humiliating myself - and harming both myself and anyone else who stood too close.

When I finished putting my clothes in the old pine dresser, I took my bag of bathroom necessities and went to the communal bathroom to myself up after the day of travel. I looked at my face in the mirror as I brushed through my short untidily damp hair. Maybe it was the light, but already I looked sallower, unhealthy. My skin could be handsome - but at the moment it was clear, almost translucent-looking - but it all depended on color. I had none of that here.

Facing my pallid reflection in the mirror, I was forced to admit that I was lying to myself. It wasn't just physically that I'd never fit in. And if I couldn't find a niche in a school with three thousand people, what were my chances here? I didn't relate well to people my age. Maybe the truth was that I didn't relate well to people, period. Even my mother, who I used to be closer to than anyone else on the planet, had never truly been in harmony with me, never on exactly the same page. Sometimes I wondered if I was seeing the same things through my eyes that the rest of the world saw through theirs. Maybe there was a glitch in my brain.

But the cause didn't matter. All that mattered was the effect and tomorrow would only be the beginning . . .

After I was done hating myself for leaving mom behind and the crying had stopped, I still didn't get any sleep. The constant whooshing of the rain and wind across the roof wouldn't fade into the background. I pulled the faded old quilt over my head, and later added the pillow, too. But I couldn't fall asleep, not even when the rain finally settled into a quieter drizzle.

Thick fog was all I could see out my window in the morning, and I could feel a slight of the claustrophobia creeping up on me. You could hardly ever see the sky here; it was almost like a cage. So that was gonna be a hard to get used to without all the vitamin D. Breakfast with Charlie was a quiet event. He wished me good luck at school and I thanked, knowing though that his hope was wasted. Good luck tended to avoid me and being a new student was going to make it worse. As much as I loved finally being away from Phil and even mom if I was being honest, the one thing I still dreaded was my first day of school.

Charlie left before I did to the police station that was his wife and family. Afterwards, I sat at the old square oak table in one of the three unlatching chairs and examined his small kitchen, with it's dark paneled walls, bright yellow cabinets and the white linoleum floor. Nothing had changed. My mom had painted the cabinets eighteen years ago in an attempt to bring some sunshine into the house. Over the small fireplace in the adjoining handkerchief-sized family room was a row of pictures. First a wedding picture of my mom with her husband before Phil, in Las Vegas, then one of the three of us in the hospital after I was born, taken by a helpful nurse, followed by the procession of my school pictures up to last year's. Those were a bit embarrassing to look at - I would have to see what I could do to get Charlie to put them somewhere else, at least while I was living here.

Even though I didn't want to be too early to school, I couldn't stay in the house anymore. I donned my jacket which had the feel of a biohazard suit and headed out into the rains. It was just drizzling still, not enough to soak me through immediately as I reached the house key that was always hidden under the eaves by the door and locked up. The sloshing of my new waterproof boots was unnerving. I missed the normal crunch of gravel as I walked. I couldn't pause and admire my truck again as I wanted; I was in a hurry to get out of the misty wet that swirled around my head and clung to my hair under my hood.

Inside the truck, it was nice and dry. Either Billy or Charlie had obviously cleaned it up, but the tan upholstered seats still smelled faintly of tobacco, gasoline and peppermint. The engine started quickly, to my relief, but loudly, roaring to life like a lion and then idling at top volume. Well, a truck this old was bound to have a flaw. The antique radio worked which was a plus I hadn't expected.

Finding the school wasn't difficult, though I'd never been there before. The school was, like most other things, just off the highway. It was not obvious that it was a school; only the sign, which declared it to be the Forks High School, made me stop. It looked like a collection of matching houses, built with maroon-colored bricks. There were so many trees and shrubs I couldn't see its size at first. Where was the feel of the institution? I wondered nostalgically. Where were the chain-link fences, the metal detectors?

I parked in front of the first building, which had a small sign over the door reading FRONT OFFICE. No one else was parked there, so I was sure it was off limits, but I decided I would get directions inside instead of circling around in the rain like a bumbling idiot. I stepped unwillingly out of the toasty truck cab and walked down a little stone path lined with dark hedges. I took a deep breath before opening the door.

Inside it was brightly lit and warmer than I'd hoped. The office was small; a little waiting area with padded folding chairs, orange-flecked commercial carpet, notices and awards cluttering the walls and a big clock ticking loudly. Plants grew everywhere in large plastic pots, as if there wasn't enough greenery outside. The room was cut in half by a long counter, cluttered with wire baskets full of papers and brightly colored flyers taped to its front. There were three desks behind the counter, one of which was manned by a large, red-haired woman wearing glasses. She was wearing a purple t-shirt, which immediately made me feel overdressed.

The red-haired woman looked up. "Can I help you?"

"I'm Jackson Swan," I informed her and saw the awareness light her eyes. I was expected, a topic of gossip no doubt. The only nephew of the Chief's come at last.

"Of course," she said. She dug through a precariously stacked pile of documents on her desk till she found the ones she was looking for. "I have your schedule right here and a map of the school." She brought several sheets to the counter to show me.

She went through my classes for me, highlighting the best route to each on the map and gave me a slip to have each teacher sign, which I was to bring back at the end of the day. She smiled at me and hoped, like Charlie, that I would like it here in Forks. I smiled back hoping the same as well.

When I went back out to my truck, other students were starting to arrive. I drove around the school, following the line of traffic. I was glad to see that most of the cars were older like mine, nothing flashy. At home I'd lived in one of the higher-income neighborhoods that were included in the Paradise Valley District. It was a common thing to see a new Mercedes or Porsche in the student lot. The only car that stood out here was a shiny new Volvo. Still, I cut the engine as soon as I was in a spot, so that the thunderous volume wouldn't draw attention to me.

I looked at the map in the truck, trying to memorize it now; hopefully I wouldn't have to walk around with it stuck in front of my nose all day. I stuffed everything in my bag, slung the strap over my shoulder and sucked in a huge breath. I can do this, I lied to myself feebly. No one was going to bite me. I finally exhaled and stepped out of the truck. I kept my face pulled back into my hood as I walked to the sidewalk, crowded with teenagers. My plain black jacket didn't stand out, I noticed with relief.

Once I got around the cafeteria, building three was easy to spot. A large black "3" was painted on a white square on the east corner. I felt my breathing gradually creeping toward hyperventilation as I approached the door. I tried holding my breath as I followed two unisex raincoats through the door.

The classroom was small. The people in front of me stopped just inside the door to hang up their coats on a long row of hooks, so I copied them. They were two girls, one a porcelain-colored blonde, the other also pale, with light brown hair. At least my skin wouldn't be a standout here.

I took the slip up to the teacher, a tall, graying man whose desk had a nameplate identifying him as Mr. Mason. He gawked at me when he saw my name - not an encouraging response - and of course I flushed tomato red. But at least he sent me to an empty desk at the back without introducing me to the class. It was harder for my new classmates to stare at me in the back, but somehow, they managed. I kept my eyes down on the reading list the teacher had give me. It was fairly basic: Bronte, Shakespeare, Chaucer, Faulkner. I'd already everything, which was comforting and boring. I wondered if my mom would send me my folder of old essays, or if she would think that was cheating. I went through different arguments with her in my head while the teacher drone on.

When the bell rang, a nasal buzzing sound, a gangly boy with skin problems and hair black as an oil slick leaned across the aisle to talk to me.

"You're Jackson Swan, aren't you?" He looked like the overly helpful, chess club type.

"Jack," I corrected. Everyone within a three seat radius turned to look at me.

"Where's your next class?" he asked.

I had to check in my bag. "Um, Government, with Jefferson, in building six."

There was nowhere to look without meeting curious eyes.

"I'm headed toward building four, I could show you the way. . . ." Definitely over-helpful.

I smiled tentatively. "Thanks."

"I'm Eric, by the way," he added.

We got our jackets and headed out into the rain, which had picked up. I could have sworn several people behind us were walking close enough to eavesdrop. I hoped I wasn't getting paranoid.

"So, this is a lot different than Phoenix, huh?"

"Very."

"It doesn't rain much there, does it?"

"Most of the time no, it's only in Monsoon season when it gets pretty wet."

We walked back around the cafeteria, to the south buildings by the gym. Eric walked me right to the door, though it was clearly marked. "Well, good luck," he said as I touched the handle. "Maybe we'll have some classes together." He sounded hopeful.

I smiled vaguely at him and went inside. If I looked closer, Eric was kind of cute to be honest. Just not really my type.

The rest of the morning passed in about the same fashion. My Trigonometry teacher, Mr. Varner, who I would have hated anyway just because of the subject he taught, was the only one who made me stand in front of the class and introduce myself. I stammered, blushed and tripped over my own boots on the way to my seat.

After two classes, I started to recognize several of the faces in each class. There was always someone braver than the others who would introduce themselves and ask me questions about how I was liking Forks. I tried to be diplomatic, but mostly I just lied a lot. At least I never needed the map. One girl sat next me in both Trig and Spanish, and she walked with me to the cafeteria for lunch. She was tiny, several inches shorter than my five feet six inches, but her wildly curly dark hair made up a lot of the difference between our heights. I couldn't remember her name, so I smiled and nodded as she prattled about teachers and classes. I didn't try to keep up.

We sat at the end of a full table with several of her friends, who she introduced to me. I forgot all their names as soon as she spoke them. They seemed impressed by her bravery in speaking to me. The boy from English, Eric, waved at me from across the room. But it was there, sitting in the lunchroom, trying to make conversation with seven curious strangers, that I first saw them. They were sitting in the corner of the cafeteria, as far away from where I sat as possible in the long room. There were five of them. They were talking and laughing just like the rest of students. Luckily, they weren't gawking at me, unlike most of the other students, so it was safe to stare at them without fear of meeting an excessively interested pair of eyes. But it was none of these things that caught and held my attention.

They didn't' look anything alike. Of the three boys, one was big - muscled like a serious weight lifter, with dark, curly hair. Another was taller, leaner, but still muscular and honey blond. The last was lanky, less bulky, with untidy, bronze-colored hair. He was more boyish than the others, who looked like they could be in college, or even teachers here rather than students.

The girls were opposites. The tall one was statuesque and she had a beautiful figure, the kind you only saw on the cover of the _Sports Illustrated _swimsuit issue, the kind that made every girl around her take a hit on her self-esteem just by being in the same room and the kind boys would do anything just to be around her. Her hair was golden, gently waving to the middle of her back. The short girl was pixie like, thin in the extreme, with small features. Her hair was a deep black, cropped short and pointing in every direction.

And yet, they were all exactly alike. Every one of them was chalky pale, the palest of all the students living in this sunless town. Paler than me, the albino. They all had very dark eyes despite the range in hair tones. They also had dark shadows under their eyes - purplish and bruise like. As if they were all suffering from a sleepless night, or almost done recovering from a broken nose. Though their noses, all their features really, were straight, perfect, and angular.

But all this is not why I couldn't look away.

I stared because their faces, so different, so similar, were all devastatingly, inhumanly beautiful. They were faces you never expected to see except perhaps on the airbrushed pages of a fashion magazine. Or painted by an old master as the face of an angel. It was hard to decide who was the most beautiful - maybe the perfect blond girl, or the bronze-haired boy.

As I watched them laughing, the small girl rose with her tray and walked away with a quick, graceful lope that belonged on a runway. I watched, amazed at her lithe dancer's step, till she dumped her finished tray and glided through the back door, faster than I would have thought possible. My eyes darted back to the others, who sat unchanging.

"Who are _they_?" I asked the girl from my Spanish class, whose name, I still couldn't remember.

As she looked up to see who I meant - though already knowing, probably, from my tone - suddenly he looked at her, the thinner one, the boyish one, the youngest, perhaps. He looked at my neighbor for just a fraction of a second and then his dark yes flickered to mine. He looked away more quickly than I could, though in a flush of embarrassment I dropped my eyes at once. In that brief flash of a glance, his face held nothing of interest - it was as if she had called his name and he'd looked up in involuntary response, already having decided not to answer. My neighbor giggled, looking at the table like I did.

"That's Edward and Emmett Cullen, Rosalie and Jasper Hale. The one who left was Alice Cullen; they all live together with Dr. Cullen and his wife." She said this under her breath.

I glanced sideways at the beautiful boy, who was looking at his tray now, picking a bagel to pieces with long pale fingers. His mouth was moving very quickly, his perfect lips barely opening. The other three still looked away and yet I felt he was speaking quietly to them. Strange, unpopular names, I thought. The kinds of names grandparents had. But maybe that was in vogue here - small town names? I finally remembered that my neighbor was called Jessica, a perfectly common name. There were two girls named Jessica in my History class back home.

"They are . . . very nice-looking." I struggled, the compliment falling flat with understatement.

"Yes!" Jessica agreed with another giggle. "They're all together though."

"Oh," I said, a little bummed out.

"Yeah I know right? Emmett is with Rosalie and Jasper is with Alice. The only who doesn't seem to have a partner is Edward, and they all live together too." Her voice held all the shock and condemnation of the small town, I thought critically. But, if I was being honest, I had to admit that even in Phoenix, it would cause some gossip.

"Which ones are the Cullens again? They don't look related."

"Oh, they're not. Dr. Cullen is really young, in his twenties or early thirties. They're all adopted as if that makes their relationships any more moral. The Hales are brother and sister, twins - the blondes I mean - and they're foster children."

I was a little stunned. "They look a little old for foster children."

"They are now, Jasper and Rosalie are both eighteen, but they've been with Mrs. Cullen since they were eight. She's their aunt or something like that."

"That's really nice for them to take care of all those kids like that, when they're so young and everything."

"I guess so," Jessica admitted reluctantly and I got the impression that she didn't like the doctor and his wife for some reason, or any of them for that matter. With the glances she was throwing at their adopted children, I would presume the reason was jealousy. "I think that Mrs. Cullen can't have any kids, though," she added, as if that lessened their kindness.

Throughout all this conversation, my eyes flickered again and again to the table where the strange family sat.

"Have they always lived in Forks?" I asked. Surely I would have noticed them on one of my summers here.

"No," she said in a voice that implied it should be obvious, even to a new arrival like me. "They just moved down two years ago from somewhere in Alaska."

I felt a surge of pity and relief. Pity because, as beautiful as they were, they were outsiders, clearly not accepted. Relief that I wasn't the only newcomer here and certainly not the most interesting by any standard. As I examined them, the youngest, one of the Cullens, looked up and met my gaze, this time with evident curiosity in his expression. As I looked swiftly away, it seemed to me that his glance held some kind of unmet expectation.

"Which one is the boy with the reddish brown hair?"

I peeked at him from the corner of my eye and he was still staring at me, but not gawking like the other students had today - he had a slightly frustrated expression. I looked down again embarrassed.

"That's Edward. He's gorgeous, of course, but don't waste your time. He doesn't date. Apparently none of us here are good-looking enough for him." She sniffed, a clear case of sour grapes. I wondered when he'd turned her down, but then I thought about what she said. _Don't waste your time!_ Did she know? I don't remember saying anything about it. I usually try to keep it to myself.

"Don't worry about it, I'm cool," she said, noticing my expression of surprise.

"And here, I thought nobody would find out. I'm usually pretty good at hiding it."

Jessica laughed. "Oh, you are, it's just me. For some reason I have a strange almost sixth sense thing about it and I can almost always tell. But like I said, I'm cool with it."

"Thanks," I said a little self-consciously.

I bit my lip to hide my smile though as I glanced at him again. His face was turned away, but I thought his cheek appeared lifted, as if he were smiling, too. After a few more minutes, the four of them left the table together. They were all noticeably graceful - even the big, brawny one, it was almost unsettling to watch. But the one named Edward didn't look at me again.

I sat at the table with Jessica and her friends longer than I would have if I'd been sitting alone. I was anxious not to be late for class on my first day. One of my new acquaintances, who considerately reminded me that her name was Angela, had Biology II with me the next hour. We walked to class together in silence. I could tell she was shy, like me.

When we entered the classroom, Angela went to sit at a black-topped lab table exactly like the ones I was used to. She already had a neighbor. In fact, all the tables were filled but one. Next to the center aisle, I recognized the boy. Edward Cullen by his unusual hair, sitting next to that single open seat.

As I walked down the aisle to introduce myself to the teacher and get my slip signed, I was watching him surreptitiously. Just as I passed, he suddenly went rigid in his seat. He stared at me again, meeting my eyes with the strangest expression on his face - it was hostile, furious. I looked away quickly, shocked, going red again. I stumbled over a book in the walkway and had to catch myself on the edge of a table. The girl sitting there giggled.

I'd noticed that his eyes happened to be black - coal black.

Mr. Banner signed my slip and handed me a book with no nonsense about introductions. I could tell we were going to get along famously. Of course, he had no choice but to send me to the one open seat in the middle of the room. I kept my eyes down as I went to sit by _him,_ bewildered by the antagonistic stare he'd given me.

I didn't look up as I set my book on the table and took my seat, but I saw his posture change from the corner of my eye. He was leaning away from me, sitting on the extreme edge of his chair and averting his face like he smelled something bad. Inconspicuously, I sniffed my underarms. It smelled like spring rain, the scent of my favorite deodorant. It seemed an innocent enough odor. I looked up again and tried to pay attention to the teacher.

Unfortunately the lecture was on cellular anatomy, something I'd already studied. I took notes carefully anyway, always looking down.

I couldn't stop myself from peeking occasionally at the strange boy next to me. During the whole class, he never relaxed his stiff position on the edge of his chair, sitting as far from me as possible. I could see his hand on his left leg was clenched into a fist, tendons standing out under his pale skin. This, too, he never relaxed. He had the long sleeves of his white shirt pushed up to his elbows and his forearm was surprisingly hard and muscular beneath his light skin. He wasn't nearly as slight as he'd looked next to his burly brother.

The class seemed to drag on longer than the others. Was it because the day was finally coming to a close, or because I was waiting for his tight fist to loosen? It never did; he continued to sit so still it looked like he wasn't breathing. What was wrong with him? Was this his normal behavior? I questioned my judgment on Jessica's bitterness at lunch today. Maybe she was not as resentful as I'd thought.

It couldn't have anything to do with me. He didn't know me from Adam. I peeked at him one more time and regretted it. He was glaring down at me again, his black eyes full of revulsion. As I flinched away from him, shrinking against my chair, the phrase _if looks could kill_ ran through my mind. At that moment, the bell rang loudly, making me jump and Edward Cullen was out of his seat. Fluidly he rose - he was much taller than I'd thought - his back to me and he was out the door before anyone else was out of their seat.

I sat frozen in my seat, staring blankly after him. He was so mean and it wasn't fair. I began gathering up my things slowly, trying to block the anger that filled me, for fear I break.

"Aren't you Jackson Swan?" a male voice asked.

I looked up to see a cute, baby-faced boy, his pale blond hair carefully gelled into orderly spikes, smiling at me in a friendly way. He obviously didn't think I smelled bad.

"Jack," I corrected him, with a smile.

"I'm Mike."

"Hi."

"Do you need help finding your next class?"

"I'm headed to the gym, actually. I think I can find it."

"That's my next class, too."

He seemed thrilled, though it wasn't that big of a coincidence in a school this small. We walked to class together; he was a chatterer - he supplied most of the conversation, which made it easy for me. He'd lived in California till he was ten, so he knew how I felt about the sun and it turned out he was in my English class also. He was the nicest person I'd met today.

But as we were entering the gym, he asked, "So, did you stab Edward Cullen with a pencil or what? I've never seen him act like that."

I cringed. So I wasn't the only who had noticed and apparently, that wasn't Edward Cullen's usual behavior. I decided to play dumb.

"Oh, was that the boy I sat next to in Biology?" I asked artlessly.

"Yes. He looked like he was in pain or something."

"I don't know, I never spoke to him."

"He's a weird guy." Mike lingered by me instead of heading to the dressing room. "If I were lucky enough to sit by you, I would have talked to you."

I smiled at him before walking through the boys locker room door. He was friendly and clearly admiring. But it wasn't enough to ease my irritation.

The Gym teacher, Coach Capp, found me a uniform but didn't make me dress down for today's class. At home, only two years of P.E. were required. Here, P.E. was mandatory all four years. So instead of participating, I got to watch four basketball games running simultaneously. Remembering how many injuries I had sustained and inflicted - playing basketball, I felt faintly nauseated.

The final bell rang at last. I walked slowly to the office to return my paperwork. The rain had drifted away, but the wind was strong and colder. I wrapped my arms around myself. Edward Cullen stood at the desk in front of me. I recognized again that tousled bronze hair. He didn't appear to notice the sound of my entrance. I stood pressed against the back wall, waiting for the receptionist to be free.

He was arguing with her in a low, attractive voice. I quickly picked up the gist of the argument. He was trying to trade from sixth-hour Biology to another time - any other time. I just couldn't believe that this was about me. It had to be something else, something that happened before I entered the Biology room. The look on his face must have been about another aggravation entirely. It was impossible that this stranger could take such a sudden, intense dislike to me.

The door opened again and the cold wind gusted through the room, rustling the papers on the desk, swirling my hair around my face. The girl who came in merely stepped to the desk, placed a note in the wire basket, and walked out again. But Edward Cullen's back stiffened, and he turned slowly to glare at me - his face was absurdly handsome - with piercing, hate-filled eyes. For an instant, I felt a thrill of genuine fear, raising the hair on my arms. The look only lasted a second, but it chilled me more than the freezing wind. He turned back to the receptionist.

"Never mind, then," he said hastily in a voice like velvet. "I can see that it's impossible. Thank you so much for you help." And he turned on his heel without another look at me and disappeared out the door. I went meekly to the desk, my face white for once instead of red and handed her the signed slip.

"How did your first day go, dear?" the receptionist asked maternally.

"Fine," I lied, my voice weak. She didn't look convinced.

When I got to the truck, it was almost the last car in the lot. It seemed like a haven, already the closest thing to home I had in this damp green hole. I sat inside for awhile, just staring out the windshield blankly. But soon I was cold enough to need the heater, so I turned the key and the engine roared to life. I headed back to Charlie's house, fighting tears the whole way there.


End file.
